Man of Steel: Clark's Origins
by TheMetalGearZero
Summary: Man of Steel One-Shot symbolising Clark's struggles in adapting into the real world and focusing on fitting in. Rated T. R/R


Well… not my usual style but here's my attempt at a one shot – a Man of Steel one shot, a film I re-watched a while back it got me inspired into writing something for it. Nothing to say here – just the usual, thanks for clicking, hope you'll enjoy and don't forget to leave a review – that'd be appreciated. Um… thanks, Enjoy!

…

*Smack* Clark Kent fell back against the fence, the metallic alloy bending at the impact of his body's weight. The thick book clutched he'd clutched in his hand fell write off, smacking against the surface which Clark had now been pinned to.

"Just some farm boy been wanting to do some good in the world, huh?" The boy around Clark's age, Whitney Fordham, straight in posture, his stance reflecting his confidence as he drives his hand forward into a fist – unaware that the boy he's pushing around, the "Big Blue Boy Scout", or at least they called him in a sense of "antithesis irony" was much more powerful – who could smash trucks over his head, who was crushing the fence under his minimum weight could simply bend those wires and weld them into Whitney's body and drag him straight under the ocean.

"Pa Kent's gonna do you any good?" another boy emerged, with a crowd now surrounding, thickening - the harsh environments and the thick air growing thicker, and then Clark was suddenly aware… he'd crushed parts of the fence he was gripping onto, and the wire had now disintegrated into several microscopic pieces piling over each other, and then he wouldn't dare remove his hand at that instant.

Then he was smacked against his own truck, the weight of Fordham driving him against the vehicle's surface, or at least, supposedly, and then Clark swallowed his own pride… lacking any evident strength as he's dropped down to the ground – Jonathan Kent emerging from Sullivan's, the place where he buys repair tools to fix his damn truck… and then every other boy, and every single girl scattered away.

"Clark…" Jonathan had dropped all his tools, approaching his teenage boy, then helping him off of the ground – then Kent shrugs off the beating… it's honestly become routine, tears threatening to escape from his eyeballs, his eyes failing to meet his father's gaze.

"Thanks…" Clark watches his father pick up the book he was holding, and then placing it firmly in his hand, but the book didn't matter to Jonathan… because those were simply pages held together by something, and then Jonathan fixed his gaze at Clark – finally meeting his eyes.

"I'm… um… are you okay?" Jonathan was struggling to find the correct assortment of words, a unique, strange scent of something present in every single world he spoke… it was guilt – the fact he'd sheltered Clark in his own home under the believe he'd have to hide who he truly was – his abilities… his curse… his _gifts._

"You know… you know they can't hurt me" Clark watched the several, mini pieces of steel as she shattered off of his fingertips, and then he looked back up to his father.

"You aren't feeling down? And… you aren't upset?"

_What kind a question's that?_

"No…" Clark responded coolly. "Let's get in the truck, 'kay?"

Jonathan nodded. "Let's get right in."

…

One everything was inside, Jonathan and Clark sat back in the rusty, old, aging truck that'd been passed down to Jonathan by his late, late father… the wheels deep into the Kansas road – past grass and past other paths, nobody even talked.

"Clark – I'm sorry" Jonathan apologised – it was all so sudden, so simplistic and somewhat awkward, as he watched Clark's eyes roll, without a doubt set off after those cruel events back outside of Sullivan's.

"It's alright, dad."

"No – it is not all right. I know everything's been difficult, and I wish I could change things, but I can't" Jonathan let out a sigh, which honestly didn't sound nice – another one of _those _conversations, which honestly didn't feel right – all of these issues, everything just had Clark_ alienated, _the last element he'd ever like to grasp. Ever.

"I know it gets rough around the edges – lying to everybody about who you are, and what you can do… but someday, Clark… someday it'll all mean something."

"Mean what?" Clark undeniably raised his voice. "If I'm lying to anybody, I'm lying to myself… I don't understand my heritage at all and I'm denying it… and then what'll happen? And _then_ when everybody – when the whole world knows who I am? What'll it mean… tell me, _dad?"_

Ouch. Those words stung – because although Jonathan would've liked to answer a single one of all of his son's questions… he simply couldn't. His son would forge his own destiny, free of a limit to his genes or his background… and that road, that passage, symbolised by the long and tiring one they drove through in Kansas… it'd hopefully lead to something simple.

…

Um… I'm not happy about this at all – I honestly went into this without a plan, and should've went with writing nothing at all. I'm horribly horrible at one-shots, considering its post 2AM… well, thanks for reading, not that anyone cares for this – maybe I would've liked to tap into my writing skills before they drift away… dunno, honestly don't like this but leave your comments below. Thanks!

MGZ 


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